


Like Normal People

by jdmcool



Category: Hannibal (TV), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cannibalism, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 14:45:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdmcool/pseuds/jdmcool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The relationship they maintained was not something that was discussed in social circles, polite or otherwise. The entire situation was made up of so many indecencies a person would scarcely understand the complexities.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Normal People

**Author's Note:**

> Just finding my flow for fanfiction after a good month or so of not writing, so if it sucks, it's not my fault. Also, I blame certain people for everything this fic is.

The relationship they maintained was not something that was discussed in social circles, polite or otherwise. The entire situation was made up of so many indecencies a person would scarcely understand the complexities. In fact, Mycroft was certain that he had never even held such a conversation with Hannibal himself. Not explicitly, at least.

When they spoke it was of Europe and missed amenities, the beauty of France in the spring. Conversations backlit by Dvorak concertos, a twist of merlot resting heavily on both their tongues. A public misdirection from the deals brokered by arched brows and gentle tilts of the head. An entire unsaid conversation ended by Hannibal’s polite grin as Mycroft handed him his card, his own Adam’s apple bobbing as their fingers brushed.

Of course, so many of their conversations seemed to rest heavily in the way they sat together in Hannibal’s library or the fleeting way their eyes met over dinner. Always watching each other with a wary fondness, completely ignoring the man-eating tiger of admission that lurked in the shadows of their every moment together. What wasn’t discussed openly could never be used against them and it was for the better. In the calming shade of their secrets nothing could come between them and the odd evenings they would spend together.

“Is something bothering you?”

Snapping out of his reverie, Mycroft shook his head as he began to cut another piece of meat. “No. Lost in a futile thought. I apologize.”

“It is perfectly fine. I only asked because you looked… conflicted.”

Flashing a small smile, Mycroft looked up at Hannibal. Read every word that lay between his almost narrowed eyes and held back the lie on his tongue. The statement that he was merely thinking of work or his brother. He fought against the quiet whisper that may have been his dying conscience telling him to bow out of the situation while he could and ate another bite of the meal.

Something about the feeling of meat drizzled with a lovely berry based sauce falling apart in his mouth took his mind off everything and managed to bring a genuine smile to his face. “This is exquisite.”

“Thank you,” Hannibal said, satisfaction in his eyes as he regarded Mycroft. “It’s hardly anything special. Fresh berries, Sidr honey and balsamic vinegar from the pronivce of Reggio Emilia carefully drizzled over a tenderloin.”

Letting out a small huff of amusement at the man’s modesty, Mycroft took another bite of his meal. “A tenderloin that was carefully chosen, I’m sure.”

Chuckling, Hannibal nodded. “Chosen specifically for you.”

“Oh?”

“A rather rambunctious little pig with a habit of getting himself into trouble.”

“Sounds like my brother,” Mycroft remarked with a chuckle. Gazing at the piece of meat on his fork though, it was all the harder to keep the smile on his face.

Something about the thought of Sherlock managed to take him out of the moment and the meal, that whisper in the back of his mind return all the louder. Buzzing around his mind like a particularly annoying fly telling him to leave. That he had the valid excuse of meeting with various Americans in the morning to fall back on. So why he chose to sit there and continue eating was something that he was certain he would have to explore in due time.

Wiping his mouth as he scooted his chair back from the table, he tried not to watch as Hannibal got up and began to clean away their meal. With a deep breath, he stood as well, pushing his chair in before making his way to the kitchen. Walking up behind him, pointedly keeping his steps a bit heavier than usual, Mycroft wrapped an arm around the man’s waist.

“Crepes?”

Leaning into the touch, Hannibal smiled as he drizzled caramel over dark red crepe in intricate lines. “You enjoy them, no?”

“Usually?”

“Would you prefer to skip desert for the evening, Mr. Holmes?” He questioned as he turned to face him, obviously searching for an answer.

Looking off at where the man’s suit jacket rested across a stool, Mycroft licked his lips as he nodded. “If it wouldn’t be asking for too much,” he said, turning back toward Hannibal.

With most who maintained the sort of relationship that they did, it wouldn’t have been a question. But then, most people didn’t find themselves dining with a man quite like Hannibal Lector all that often. So when he made to speak, Mycroft interrupted him with a soft smile.

“Or perhaps eating desert elsewhere would be more beneficial?”

From the look on his face, it was clear that Mycroft had found a pleasant compromise. Lips quirked slightly, Hannibal leaned back slightly. “I believe that would be best.”

“Good,” he said before walking off.

Perhaps his biggest sin, laughable though the thought may have been, was the fact that he didn’t question where they were to have desert. Instead he made his way around the other man’s home with an easy that spoke of his familiarity with the place. When he came to Hannibal’s room, he toed off his shoes, placing them against the wall by the door before eying the bed as though it was capable of attacking him as he slowly made his way over to it. He unbuttoned his jacket with steady hands at the edge of it before sitting down on the side.

It wasn’t long before Hannibal came with his jacket draped over his right arm and a plate in his hand. Placing the plate on his nightstand, he then made his way to his closet, hanging up the jacket and removing his socks and shoes considering he reappeared without them. Then, as though he finally realized that he wasn’t alone, he made way to Mycroft like a large cat readying for a fight rather than out for the kill.

Raising his eyes as he watched Hannibal stand in front of him, Mycroft chose to make the first move. Hand striking out with a controlled calm, he began to unbutton Hannibal’s waistcoat, pointedly ignoring as the man started copying his actions. When he spread his legs, Hannibal moved to stand between them, sliding the waistcoat and jacket off his shoulders while Mycroft focused the man’s tie. He luxuriated in the feeling of the ostentatious pattern as he gently tugged it a loose. It was rather funny how something so terrible could feel so pleasant.

Much like it was always interesting that despite their similarities, they never went about things in the same way. Even if they started off wearing the same thing, it never ended that way. Hannibal enjoyed hooking his finger in Mycroft’s braces and sliding them off his shoulders carefully one by one while Mycroft chose to unbutton Hannibal’s trousers for the simple joy of untucking the man’s shirt and unbuttoning it from the bottom up.

A brief meet of theirs eyes had him moving to sit with his back to the headboard after moving his jacket and waistcoat out of the way, his trousers quick to join the neat pile. And all the while Hannibal undid his cuff before removing everything except his trousers that hung temptingly around his waist, in a smooth slide of fabric.

Then without a word he moved to kneel between Mycroft’s legs with the fluidity of a snake. One hand sliding up along Mycroft’s thigh while the other grabbed the plate from the nightstand with a smile. Watching as Hannibal gently cut it with the fork, Mycroft found himself opening his mouth before the man could even think to ask him to do such a thing.

The crepe was heavenly, the sweetness of the caramel entwining with the tartness of the berries inside. It settled like ash on his tongue in comparison to the shirtless man between his legs. Yet from the way he watched him as they shared the crepe, it was all too clear that Hannibal had other ideas as well.

“Interesting variation on the traditional crepe,” Mycroft remarked as Hannibal placed aside the plate once again.

“Veriohukaiset,” Hannibal explained as he unbuttoned Mycroft’s shirt. “A simple Finnish delicacy that has the benefit of making use for the blood of an animal instead of merely tossing it out.”

Making a noise agreement, Mycroft kissed Hannibal rather than indulge the discussion. As much as he enjoyed the man’s way with food, it wasn’t the sole reason for his visits. No meal, no matter how many lengths the man went through to cook it, could match up to thrill of him kissing back. The heated pressure of Hannibal’s body against him or the almost painful drag of teeth against his lip.

Not that Hannibal treated one any differently than the other. He all but inspected Mycroft’s body with the same care he would a prime cut or a patient. Fingers tracing down his side and hooking in the waistband of his pants before removing them entirely, leaving Mycroft spread out beneath him in nothing more than his shirt. Kissed a path from his neck to his chest, occasionally stopping in his actions to take licking tastes or teasing bites. Continued exploring at his own pace, as though they had eternity for him to nuzzle at the hollow of Mycroft’s chest.

And yet, when Hannibal finally reached his destination of Mycroft’s stiff cock, he didn’t make a move. He merely looked up at him with an arched brow, questioning. Smiling, Mycroft ran his hand through Hannibal’s hair as he shook his head. “Another time,” he promised.

A promise because he often wondered what the wet heat of Hannibal’s mouth felt like. It was hard not to over the many years that saw them in such a position. But Mycroft wasn’t a fool and Hannibal accepted it with the same unquestioning understanding they gave to every other aspect of their relationship.

Rather than push the situation, he moved on, getting the lube as Mycroft spread his legs eagerly. The feeling of two slick fingers pressing into him enough to make him forget about Hannibal’s mouth and his cooking.  Tilting his head back, Mycroft bit down on his lip as he tried to keep himself from attempting to get those two fingers deeper inside of him. Fought not to beg with his body since the words were safely locked away in the recesses of his mind. But as Hannibal spread his fingers and stroked over the bundle of nerves with all the precision and gentleness of a bullet to the head, it wasn’t an easy fight to undergo.

The mouth tasting at his throat only made it more difficult. Clenching a fist in Hannibal’s hair, he turned to kiss the man, his desperation finding an equal in Hannibal’s hunger for him. Not simply his body, of which Mycroft gave freely, but also his mind and soul. All the intricate little things that he only gave the psychologist in fleeting glimpses.

It was only with the quick removal of the fingers did Mycroft falter and attempt to follow with his hips. A thoughtless action that he was certain Hannibal caught by the smirk on his face as he shoved his own pants and trousers down and slicked himself up with well controlled strokes before thrusting into him.

Hooking a leg around Hannibal’s waist, he closed his eyes as he allowed himself to be taken. Moans of each other’s names spilling out freely given that was the one of the few things they could share. Nothing except cries for something more as they drove each other towards an end with a careful practice. Slick bodies sliding against each other, pulses thrumming in their veins. Tempting to be spilt under the drag of nails and sharp bites as another urge sprang up in the process.

Yet as soon as it crossed his mind, it vanished beneath the warm heat of Hannibal’s hand on his cock, a controlled stroke in counterpoint to the unrestrained way he fucked Mycroft. It was too little and not enough. A half-finished bridge that stretched over the precipice just far enough to catch him off guard when he release came crashing around him, splattering white streaks across his stomach and Hannibal’s hand not long before he came as well.

Pulling out, Hannibal laid down next to him, eyes locked on his prone form as he stared at the ceiling, trying to catch his breath. “I have a meeting in DC in the morning.”

“Leaving so soon?” He asked, sounding genuinely surprised by the comment.

Looking over at him, Mycroft wanted to say no. He knew well enough that he was only a good hour away from the where he needed to be and that a car would come for him when he called. But between the still receding look of hunger and curiosity in Hannibal’s eyes and his own nameless desires, Mycroft knew it best to leave before they ruined what they had over a whiskey soaked liver or bacon wrapped heart.

It was always better to leave while one was still winning.

Reaching out a hand to brush a piece of Hannibal’s hair out of his face, he gave a sigh of resignation. “Perhaps after we shower.”

“Perhaps, “Hannibal agreed easily before kissing Mycroft like normal people did.


End file.
